


like red wine

by magisterequitum



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you hungry?" </p><p>Elena asks her question, stilling her hand over her book where she's failed to read past the same line for the past five minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like red wine

"Are you hungry?" 

Elena asks her question, stilling her hand over her book where she's failed to read past the same line for the past five minutes. She thinks on how anyone looking into her bedroom would find it odd to see the scene present: her in her pjs against her headboard contrasted with the vampire looking out her window. Odd but it's become something of a norm for her. Just as Jenna's downstairs moving about the kitchen and Jeremy's in his room, her vampire guest has cemented himself as a fixture in her room at least a few nights of the week. Checking up on his investment he'd called it. She didn't have much to argue with nor did she think she could actually make him leave; she'd never tell him either that she breathed a bit easier with the most powerful being in town making sure she was left alone. 

Elijah turns from the window and looks to her, raising an eyebrow at her. "Is this your attempt to feed me?" 

She closes her book and strokes her fingers over the book's cover. "I've just never seen you feed or eat. I mean, Stefan and Damon have to eat regularly." 

A smile nearly comes over his face. It's something dark though, something sardonic, as if he's laughing at a joke even though his mouth's not moving and no noise is coming out. "I'm hardly like your vampires." 

'They're not mine,' she wants to say. Not really. Not in the way they want to be hers. 

Elijah studies her from across the room. Only a few feet separate them but obsidian like eyes never leave her own. She feels constricted, feels empowered, both at the same time. It makes her throat ache, his gaze, makes her want to itch her skin or ask him what she's done to make him look at her that way. 

"What are you really wanting to ask me, Elena?" 

Point blank, blunt, and she respects that, craves that in a world where the last few months nothing has been in her control. Her death is fast approaching, she knows it. She appreciates any honesty she can get these days. 

"I asked if you were hungry," she says and deliberately tilts her head. Her hair slides over the slope of her shoulder, leaving her neck bare and on display. 

His eyes never waver from her gaze. Not even a tiny flicker down. The slight smile is gone from his face though, replaced by stillness. Always so still, like marble and hardened iron over even harder bones; she remembers how tight his grip had been on her in the run down house. 

"It is unwise to tempt so." He cants his head, an unspoken challenge. "You would not dangle a bloody limb in front of a shark or lion." 

No, she wouldn't, but she is now. 

"If it would help you protect my loved ones, my family, I would." Not a lie and something that doesn't even need to be voiced in the otherwise stillness of her room. "I know it hurts and it's not something I would offer, but I have it to use." Her blood, for sale, nearly a laughable thought. 

Elijah rises from his perch and walks to her. He moves no quicker than a regular human, but the short space is eliminated far too quickly. His hand cups her chin, thumb against her jaw. "I don't need your blood to feed." 

She fights the urge to shiver, some part of her quickening at the feel of his cold hand on her face. As he takes a seat beside her on the bed, all folding of limbs that shouldn't be graceful but is in its inhumanness quality, she startles. "You're just going to do it?" She hadn't been sure he'd agree. 

The barely smile is back. "You shouldn't taunt with your offer. You're a smart girl." 

Elena's eyelids flutters when he leans closer, his nose brushing across her skin just under her jaw line. She suddenly feels heavy, her hands curling on her bedspread in their nervousness and uncertainty as to what to do. She can suddenly only see the black line of his shoulders, the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, his body large next to hers, curving over her and settling around her. 

"It needn't hurt," he exhales against her pulse where even she could feel the steady thrum of her blood moving through her veins and arteries where he's about to drink from. 

She steels herself anyway when she feels the scraping of his elongated teeth against her. Past precedence dictates that reaction no matter his words. 

A man of his word, something he'd told her again and again, he's right. It doesn't hurt, precision and accuracy maybe, with finite control and restraint, and then it's just the odd feeling of her blood being pulled from her body. Odd is what she can label it as, not uncomfortable, but just there. Trance like in a way. 

Elena shifts minutely as he drinks slow and barely at all, not hurried or frenzied. She remembers that Jenna's just downstairs and Jeremy's across the hall, but she moves forward anyway. Maybe it's just a reaction or maybe she wants to. Regardless she does move forward, leaning more into him, grateful when his arm bands around her back. The thrill of it creates a burn in her, a fire that licks its way through emptying veins, replacing it with something more powerful. He's drinking from her, but it's _her_ , and it's _her_ deal, and _her_ words illiciting his promise. Her hands move from the bed, more sure now, and she presses herself against one knee as her hands settle on his jacket's lapels. She moves against him, tiny little jerks of her hips, soothing the arousal that had first sparked when she'd come up with the idea earlier that day; a tiny thrill had shot through her at the idea of doing it, tempting him, bargaining and taking control. And here she is now grinding her cunt against his leg while he pulls his fangs from her neck and licks over what will be tiny pinpricks. 

His mouth is the only thing that gives away that he just fed from her. No spider like veins, no darkened eyes, just red, _hers_ , on his lips. She wants to ask him then if he even changed, if his face contorted at all, if he felt anything from it, or if he'd lived too long, seen cycles of life and death, seen too much to let his face shift. 

"You drive a lovely bargain, Elena." 

Her name uttered in deep slick syllables. The questions die on her tongue, except for one, his taste. 

His mouth is as slick as his words against her lips.


End file.
